


Anonymity

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 09:56:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8397136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: After the war the fame became too much for Harry Potter and he chose to disappear, instead taking on the persona of Ethan Jacobs and establishing himself as a respected magical theorist.  He's content with his life, but knows he really isn't moving on. When a invitation to join the staff at Hogwarts comes to him, he takes a chance - and accepts it.





	1. Diagon Alley

**Chapter 1 - A Pleasant Lunch in Diagon Alley**

The speckled grey owl soars over the bustling shoppers of Diagon Alley, a letter clutched tightly in her talons. She flaps once, twice, then changes direction imperceptibly and gracefully descends to the shoulder of her owner.

The young man in question looks over at his new shoulder occupant in surprise, prompting laughter from his dining partner. The red-haired man raises a hand in acknowledgement when the owl’s brunette owner glances at him apologetically. 

“It’s fine, Ethan. Indulge your owl.” Ethan laughs and turns to pull the letter from his owl’s foot.

“Thank you, Willow.” he addresses the owl, passing her a treat from a pocket in his cloak. Willow tugs gently on one of Ethan’s raven locks before soaring off again. He opens the parchment and nods once, satisfied, and smiling slightly at the contents and then shrugging at his companion’s questioning look. 

“It’s just a book I requested - I should be able to pick it up later today.” The other man nods in understanding. Before they can continue their lunch, however, someone walks nervously over to their table. 

“I, ah… Mr. Jacobs, i saw you from the street and, uh…” he falters as the two men at the table turn to look at him and he meets the disconcerting green-eyed gaze of Ethan Jacobs. The nervous young man (teenager, really - he must have only just returned from Hogwarts with the end of the school year) swallows once and then blurts out his reason for approaching them, eyes screwed tight. “Iwaswonderingifyoucouldsignmycopyofyourbookforme.”

At Ethan’s questioning look he seems to lose all courage he had mustered up. Mutely he holds out a slightly worn book, cover up.  **_Modern Magical Theory_ ** reads the title in curling golden lettering, and underneath it -  _ a new look at the traditional theories.  _ Ethan Jacob’s name lines the bottom edge as the author.

Ethan’s eyebrows rise in surprise as he finally deciphers the rushed request, but he reaches out to accept the book carefully, noting the wear already present in a book he had published only a year ago. Obviously this boy cared very much for it. “What’s your name?”

“Daniel Smith, sir,” the teen says, watching in awe as Ethan pulls a self-inking quill from his pocket and writes a message in the inside cover before handing it back to it’s owner. “Thank you so much, Mr. Jacobs!”

“Please, call me Ethan. I’m not that old, after all.” He smile at Daniel warmly. “Smith, huh? Any relation to a Zacharias Smith?”

Daniel nods, clutching the book to his chest. “He’s my cousin.”

“Huh.” Ethan smiles at him again. “Well, I hope you have a good day, Daniel!”

“I will, sir! Thank you again!” Ethan waves goodbye to Daniel as he dashes off, then turns to give his tablemate a bemused look.

George Weasley bursts out laughing, letting the smile he had been hiding throughout the interaction break free. “Don’t know what to do with the attention, Jacobs?”

A strange expression crosses Ethan’s face - both bitter and wry at the same time - and George winces, as if realizing some sort of faux pass had been made with his irreverent comment. “It’s only a Ravenclaw who loved your book, Ethan. Don’t freak out.”

Ethan’s expression turns fully wry and he shrugs sheepishly. “Just surprised someone would like my books so much, is all. Besides, what made you peg him as a raven?”

George grins broadly. “Are you kidding? How could he _ not  _ be Ravenclaw, way he was freaking out?”

They laugh together and the conversation moves on.

“So - now that your second book is done and on its way to being published and slavishly adored by excitable Ravenclaws -” George waggles his eyebrows at Ethan, “what are you up to now?”

Ethan rolls his eyes at the other man but excitement still creeps into his expression as he relays the topic of his current research. “I’m trying to rediscover witchgates.”

He grins broadly at George’s confused expression. “They’re an old form of transportation that I’m pretty sure inspired the Floo network. They allowed someone to walk through a doorway and appear in another matching set any amount of distance away. The Vanishing Cabinet from Sixth year was what inspired my search - I think it was one of the few remaining relics.”

“So what’s the difference between that and… portkeys, for example?” George asks with a frown, his inventor’s mind busy analyzing the possibility. 

“Comfort, mostly.” Ethan shrugs. “That and it’s a permanent spell, probably tied to a keystone as some kind of anchor.”

George blinks a little, utterly lost and looking a bit like his youngest brother after one of Hermione’s famous lectures. Ethan’s laugh at the expression on his face snaps him out of the daze.

“Right,” The redhead says with a grin. “I’ll leave the magical theory to you, oh great author with wisdom that far surpasses that of this lowly jokester.”

Ethan rolls his eyes at him again. “Arse. So, what are  _ you  _ up to these days? How’s the shop?”

“We just started up a new product line two days ago, based off Gin’s daredevil move last month.” Ginny, who had made quite a name for herself already as seeker for the Holyhead Harpies had managed to make herself even more famous by pulling an upside-down loop, handless, with catching the snitch  _ and _ dodging two bludgers that had been headed for her - all simultaneously. 

Debates by sports enthusiasts on whether or not to make it an official move like the Wronski Feint or Serafini Snatch were tempered by the fact that her move had been a freak accident and highly unlikely to ever happen again.

“Already flying off the shelves?” Ethan puns, smirking at him. 

George laughs. “When they’re not falling - Victoire and Teddy were over yesterday and they are notorious at somehow managing to get past whatever sticking charms I put up just to knock down my shelves. Menaces, the lot of them!”

“Like you weren’t just as bad at your age, George.”

“Yeah,” George frowns, looking down soberly. “ _ We _ were."

"Merlin, I'm sorry, I didn't -"

Ethan is interrupted firmly. "It's alright, Ethan. It's been four years. Fred's gone, and I can honor his memory by equipping the next generation of pranksters with the best material possible."

At Ethan's doubtful look he laughs slightly. "Really, Ethan. In fact, I had the honor of serving Miss Tamara Spinnet-Granger just this morning."

"No!" Ethan gasps, astonished. "How'd Tami get Hermione to agree to letting her shop at Wheezes?"

Tamara Spinnet had been taking by Hermione two years ago after her grandmother, who had been looking after her once her parent died in the war, had fallen ill. Hermione, working temporarily in the Magical Children Department of the Ministry while studying for her Mastery and recovering from a painful if amicable breakup with Ron, had ended up housing Tamara in Hermione's home for 'a few days or until different accommodations could be found.'

One thing led to another and Tamara, nicknamed Tami by her rapidly expanding 'extended family', was now Tamara Spinnet-Granger, happily adopted and looking forward to her eleventh birthday and first year at Hogwarts. George, her honorary godfather, had quickly taken advantage of her mischievous nature to pass on the legacy he and Fred once carried. Ethan himself had a few gifts he was planning to give her before she went off to school, hoping she would herself hand them down to Teddy when he arrived. 

George smirks. "From what I heard, our favorite bookworm and slash or research partner has informed her daughter that" he clears his throat and, imitating Hermione to the best of his ability, continues, "'I'm not going to delude myself and assume that you're going to stay out of trouble, not with George and Ethan egging you on, so at least try and be discreet with your pranks. I'd hate to have to give you detention.'"

Ethan burst out laughing. "Poor George, your attempts to corrupt your goddaughter and every other child in our social circle haven't gone unnoticed."

"Angelina thinks it's hilarious." George pouts, a small smile floating on the edges of his mouth.

"Speaking of Angelina, how is she?" Ethan asks, taking a sip of his tea, a smile playing around his own lips.

George smiles goofily at the mention of his girlfriend. "She's fine. We're fine. In fact, we celebrated our two-year anniversary just last week. And, well..."

He glances around them carefully, as if checking for anyone who appears overly curious as to their topic of conversation. The two man sit in the outdoor eating area out front of the restaurant, free to relax in the beautiful weather and watch passers-by. George's shop beckons cheerfully from just down the street.

Satisfied no-one is watching, George draws a small box out of his pocket and shows the contents off to Ethan with a proud grin. Ethan's eyebrows rise as he takes in the ring. "Not as flashy as one might expect, knowing you."

George shrugs, no trace of laughter lingering in his fond smile. He looks - happy. "I can appreciate simplicity every once in awhile." Then, the amusement creeping back into his face with his next words, he adds, "Not everything has to be over the top, you know."

"And it took you - how long, exactly, to discover this?"

"I'll have you know, I have a keen sense of what exactly constitutes overly dramatic!" George gasps in mock outrage.

Ethan cocks a sceptical eyebrow at him. "You're sure?"

Any reply George might have made is cut off when Ethan glances down at his watch - gold, with planets orbiting the outer rim - and swears at the time. "Shit! I told Hermione I would meet her at the one library she's been raving about!"

George laughs at his friend's sudden panic and gestures for a waiter to bring the bill. "I should probably head back to the shop anyways."

They part with a quick, manly hug and George inviting Ethan over to the Burrow in two days - a message relayed on order of his mother. The two go their respective ways with only a few curious glances sent their way from those on the street, and no one actually caring about them one way or another. They are unimportant, in the grand scheme of things, to the others here browsing Diagon Alley.


	2. The Best Company

**Chapter 2 - Old Friends are the Best Company**

It’s near dinner time when Ethan walks in the doorway of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, a pile of loose notes tucked under one arm. He wears a satisfied smile on his face that flashes smug, as if in recollection of some victory, when he glances at the wall where Walburga Black used to scream vitriol at those who entered her ancestral home.

Hermione Granger follows him in and closes the door - an action made difficult by the parchments she herself carries. She wears casual robs, much like Ethan, and a battered beaded bag hangs at her side.

"Kreacher," Ethan calls as they make their way further into the house, careful not to drop their burdens. "Can you have Winky set up a second place? Hermione will be eating with me tonight."

They are near the kitchen by this point, and Ethan smiles when he peeks in. Wnky, dressed neatly in a uniform emblazoned with the Black crest, bustles around the room cooking something - the smell makes their mouths water. Kreacher, looking on with approval, sits back in the corner of the room in a chair that looks to be created especially for him. He wears the same uniform as Winky and has quite obviously gotten on in years.

"Of course, Master Harry." The old elf looks over at Ethan with a smile, imitation locket shifting into view with the action. "Winky is working on tonight's food, sirs. Kreacher is thinking yous will be liking it very much. Dinner should be serving soon."

"That sounds wonderful, Kreacher," Hermione says with a warm smile. "And thank you for the food, Winky."

"Winky is always being happy to be working, sirs!" The formerly drunken elf seems much more settled, now, working for Ethan nearly eight years after she had been freed by Crouch r. The summer before Hermione's fourth year.

"And Kreacher, how often do I have to ask you to call me Ethan?" Hermione's dark-haired companion asks the question fondly, as if this is a regular occurrence.

"If Kreacher is telling you once, Kreacher is telling you many many times, Master Harry," Kreacher says, nodding his aged head wisely in an expression strangely reminiscent of Dumbledore, "It is being perfectly fine to be becoming someone else most of the time, but Master is needing to be remembering who you are inside. Kreacher is only being proper."

"Very well, Kreacher. If you insist." The old house-elf smile proudly and Ethan shakes his head in amusement, his fond expression growing. "Hermione and I will be in the library - call us when dinner's ready, please."

Kreacher agrees with another smile and a nod and the duo leave the kitchen to enter the library - Ethan's pride and joy. The formerly imposing shelves full of books of pureblood traditions and dark magicks have been removed: now it is an open room with bookshelves enchanted to hold more volumes than normally possible lining the walls. A study area with a large table and chairs takes up the center of the room and an armchair sits in the soft light of a window on the other end of the library.

THe pair place the parchments in separate piles on a small table immediately by the door. Ethan places a smooth stone from a nearby shelf on top of his stack and taps it lightly with the tip of his finger. Hermione shakes her head in amusement as the parchments float upward and seemingly sort themselves before settling down and getting covered with a dark green binding. Golden lettering details his name, the date, and the location where the notes (mainly excerpts from various journals or rare books, taken by a quill he had enchanted in the intention of looking them over in detail later on) had been taken. The volume matches several similar books on the same shelf the stone came from. All are coded to open only to Ethan by the small stone.

Hermione repeats the same process with her own stack of notes. She is working on a compendium of short biographies detailing the lives of those who died in both of Voldemort’s wars. It was a labor of love for her; a way to thank them for their sacrifice, ensure they wouldn’t be forgotten. Tamara’s family were some of the first to make their home in the pages.

Her own volume is deep red instead of green and she takes it with a thankful smile and a roll of her eyes. “You are so paranoid.”

“Well, you know what they say,” Ethan laughs as they settle down at the central table, “Constant Vigilance!”

Hermione laughs and leans back in her chair for a moment, grateful for its support. “Ugh - I’ve been on my feet all day.”

“So have I, in that case.” Ethan says, raising an eyebrow at her. He pulls out parchment and self-inking quills for the both of them from a slim drawer underneath the table. Hermione thanks him with a smile as he hands her the supplies.

“No, actually, Tami and I went shopping for her preliminary Hogwarts supplies - mostly clothes and things - before I dropped her off to spend the day with Ginny. She’s really excited to be going to Hogwarts next year, you know.”

Ethan grins at her. “It probably helps that you’ll join her there, oh fearsome Transfiguration Professor.”

Hermione laughs. “I’m pretty nervous about teaching, to be honest. I mean, Minerva’s been telling me how relieved she is that I can take over her position now that I’ve gained my Mastery, but…”

“Oh, you’ll be fine. You’re the brightest witch of our age, remember? No-one will notice the difference. Quality-wise, at least.” Ehan frowns, pausing in the perusal of his notes, as a thought strikes him. “The booklists can’t possibly have gone out yet - the school year only ended a few days ago.”

“That’s why I only said we went _preliminary_ shopping - we can pick up everything else once the booklist come in, including a pet: Tamara couldn’t decide between a can or an owl. This way we can beat a lot of the rush when the lists _do_ go out and she gets more time to study the books she does have in the meantime.”

Ethan smirks at the top of his best friend’s head. “I see. You wanted to live vicariously through Miss Spinnet-Granger. A whole summer to read your schoolbook… Try not to start drooling, eh Hermione?”

Hermione makes an exasperated sound and rolls her eyes at him again. “Honestly Ethan. You have been spending far too much time with George lately. And besides, we didn’t get Tami her Defense, History, or Potions textbooks.”

“Luna still taking forever to choose a book then?” Ethan asks with a grin. The absent-minded blonde was already famous for choosing a variety of non-standard text for her students and she had only taught History of Magic for two years. She had been a rather surprising choice for the position when Binns had finally lost his grasp on the physical realm, but was proving surprisingly capable when it came to teaching the subject. The class was certainly more interesting now that she was a professor.

“Yes. She likes seeing just what materials are out there, I think. Something about comparing different points of view and weeding out the members of the Rotfang Conspiracy.” Hermione hesitates for a moment before she adds, “And Slughorn is finally retiring - for good this time - so Malfoy’s taking over. He’s double-checking the lesson plans, which is delaying that for a bit.”

Ethan nods absently, focused on the papers in front of him. He doesn’t comment on the semi-anxious look Hermione shoots him when she mentions Draco Malfoy. He feels somewhat offended that she would be afraid he might fly off the handle at the very mention of his old rival - _as if I’m Ron, honestly._ He’d grown up quite a bit from their school days.

Their old classmate had gotten off rather light in the post-war trials thanks in part to his youth, the threats hanging over his head during the war, and a testimony in his favor given by Harry Potter. He had used the year of community service he had been assigned to help rebuild Hogwarts while it was closed and then had simply never left. A Potions Apprenticeship under Professor Slughorn had given him his Master in time, apparently, to take over now that the old man was leaving.

It makes a kind of sense to Ethan, he thinks, for Malfoy to take up teaching Potions, much like Hermione and Luna were doing for Transfiguration and History of Magic. Neville would join them soon, he assumed, working as he was with Professor Sprout as her assistant. The symbolism of four of his classmates and/or close friends working at Hogwarts at the same time was not lost to him.

“We all come home in the end, I suppose,” he whispers to himself, ignoring the nagging echo of _except me_ lingering on the edge of his mind.

Instead he focuses on a journal entry he’d copied out from an 18th century court magician’s private notes, trying to decide whether the ‘heavenly light’ she described as protecting her was an advanced warding technique or just an unusually potent light that blinded everyone who tried to shoot a hex at her. _Yeah, probably the second._ He misses the slightly concerned look hermione sends him.

After some time passes she breaks the silence again. “We’re still out a Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, which is honestly ridiculous. How is anyone supposed to learn anything when there’s still a new Defense Professor every year? There’s not even a curse on the position anymore, it’s just habit!”

Ethan laughs, gladly breaking free of his morose thoughts. “Only the best education for Tamara, huh?”

Hermione stops writing with a sigh. “I just want her school years to be better - _happier_ \- than ours were.”

Ethan puts down his own quill at this and reaches over the table to take her hand. They sit there for a bit in the comfortable silence of two old friends who will always be there for eachother - until Kreacher’s call for dinner breaks the moment.

Hermione smiles a little as she begins to pack up. “You’ll never guess what Minerva tol me this morning.”

There’s a mischievous light in her eyes and Ethan glances at her warily as they both join their new notes into their journals with a quick tap of their wands.

“What is it? And do I even want to know?”

“Well,” Hermione says, standing up and putting her journal inside her old beaded bag, “She said that she had been informed by a well-meaning, if excitable Ravenclaw that the current magical theory textbook for upper years was outdated, and was then recommended a supposedly _much_ better book that came out about a year ago.”

A look of realization crosses Ethan’s features. “You don’t mean…”

“Sixth and seventh years are going to start using your book from now on, Ethan.” She smiles somewhat sadly at the shell-shocked expression on his face and then, looking slightly torn, throws her arms around his neck.

“Congratulations, Harry.” She whispers the words in his ear and he tightens the hug in thanks before they both step back to go eat.

As they make their way into the dining room, Ethan, still reeling from Hermione’s news, suddenly thinks of something. “This ‘well-meaning if rather excitable Ravenclaw’ - they wouldn’t happen to be named Daniel Smith, would they?”

“Yes, actually, I think that’s who Minerva called him. Supposedly he’s a sixth year. Why? How did you know?” Hermione’s question goes unanswered - Ethan’s too busy laughing.


End file.
